


my mailbox is full of bombs

by zappactionsdower



Series: 33 rounds per minute [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 2020 Dimilix Week, M/M, brief mention of character death, brief mentions of mental illness, brief talk about dissociation, challenge - childhood - tears, i wrote this so maybe i can write that later, paintings with eyes that follow you EVERYWHERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappactionsdower/pseuds/zappactionsdower
Summary: “Why are we here?” Felix positively snarls, his arms crossed and an almost murderous stare on his face.Dimitri does not blame him. Not exactly. The last time Felix had been in the Blaiddyd manor was then, and while Dimitri remembers only bits and pieces of it, he knows Felix recalls all of it, and perhaps is just as scarred as Dimitri is from the experience.(sequel / side-story to Four Times Felix Dated and the One Time He Didn't)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: 33 rounds per minute [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634824
Comments: 9
Kudos: 82
Collections: Dimlix Week 2020





	my mailbox is full of bombs

“Why are we here?” Felix positively snarls, his arms crossed and an almost murderous stare on his face.

Dimitri does not blame him. Not exactly. The last time Felix had been in the Blaiddyd manor was _then_ , and while Dimitri remembers only bits and pieces of it, he knows Felix recalls _all_ of it, and perhaps is just as scarred as Dimitri is from the experience.

“Apologies.” Dimitri curls their fingers together and stands a little closer. “You can leave, if you want.”

That is, perhaps, not the best thing to say given the way that Felix's eyes narrow.

It _is_ Dimitri's house, after all. For now, at least. Rufus did not wish to lay claim to it, nor did his st... Patricia. Most of Dimitri's inheritance is inaccessible; tied up in complicated wills and trusts, and he has lived without it this long. He _likes_ their small apartment, and all the furniture he and Felix have cobbled together. Their king-sized bed that they spent three hours shopping for and an entire day assembling with their friends. Their coffee table with everyone's initials scratched on the inside. The strange kitchen appliances that Rodrigue keeps sending as gifts, even when only Dedue and Ashe can operate them with any level of competency.

Still. The house is doing no one any good in its current state of disuse.

“We won't be long.” Just... to take inventory of what is inside. Consider whether he should approach Rodrigue about selling it. About whether Cornelia would fight them tooth and nail, as she usually did.

Currently no one lives there. Not permanently. Perhaps thee is too much history, or too much grief, or that his father really is treading through the hallways, as Dimitri thought late at night in the worst of his episodes.

But he is no longer the Dimitri of _then_. He is himself, now, perhaps even more so without the crippling feeling of needing to be perfect, at all times, to all his peers.

And he is not alone. He has people around who truly care about him.

“Come on.” Felix keeps tight hold of his hand. “Let's get this over with.”

As Dimitri enters into the foyer, he can't help feeling that it's _cold_. Paintings and photographs hang in perfect lines along the walls, of people he recognizes and other he doesn't. A housekeeper comes in every week to make sure things do not degrade from dust, and a groundskeeper every few weeks to keep it looking _respectable_.

But it does not feel _lived_ in. It has not for many years.

He remembers – vaguely – someone coming through to decorate it when they were younger, and Sylvain's absurd running commentary at how terrible his uncle's taste was.

Speaking of...

“Do you remember this one?” He taps an acrylic painting of a woman in gaudy purple, her lips twisted in permanent disdain. “What did Sylvain call her?”

“Pamela, the Plump, Prissy, Plum.” Felix grimaces. “I hated that one.”

“I thought she was always looking at me. Judging me for... not acting right.” Dimiti hesitates, tracing his fingers along the edge of the frame. “I never figured out who the model was.”

“It doesn't matter. She's probably dead.” Felix brushes past him and yanks the painting down to clatter noisily on the ground.

Dimitri feels oddly relieved.

“This one's us.” Felix taps a photograph, tucked away on the side of the upstairs hallway. Dimitri leans close and is unsurprised to see Rodrigue and his father together, dressed in black suits with matching ties. They're holding two round babies, also wearing matching white.

“It's our baptism I think? Oh – there's Glenn.” And it was back in the corner, apparently tugging at his tie as though the thing was personally offensive. “Is that...?”

“It's my mother.” Felix's voice trembles, just slightly.

“You have her eyes. And her smile.”

Felix looks away, but Dimitri doesn't miss the slight flush “May I keep it, Felix?”

“It's _your_ house, you know.” Felix grabs the photograph before he can and tucks it – gently – under his arm.

The upstairs doesn't creak like it used to. It was how he could tell when his friends were when they were little; when it was safe for them to all creep together in the same room, or when Lambert or Rodrigue were coming in to check on them.

“Do you remember when we broke the railing?”

“ _You_ broke the railing Sylvain and I were busy hiding from your nanny.”

“It's still missing. I forgot where I hid it.” He opens the door to the room on the left, hesitating.

His bedroom looks much the same. Clean, and sparse, more like a photograph in a catalogue.

He does not remember coming back to it, but he must have. No, that's not it – _Rodrigue_ returned, and gathered his things to bring back to the Fraldarius home. Clothes, a few picture albums, odds and ends as Dimitri mentioned them as his mind returned to clarity. Sylvain and Ingrid had replaced other things with some of their own – trinkets of times they'd shared together.

“Dimitri?” He feels Felix's arm around his waist, an uncharacteristic show of affection.

“I am truly lucky to have all of you. Have I said that lately?”

“In so many words.” Felix squeezes him, just for a moment and stops. “Wait, is that...?”

Sitting on top of an empty shelf is a well-worn stuffed cat, almost all of its fur gone and its right ear missing. Felix picks it up, looking at it with a mix of horror and familiarity.

“Oh. Mister Fuzzums. I did wonder where he ended up.” Dimitri muses, taking the stuffed animal away to examine. “I thought I'd lost him in junior year.”

“Dimitri, I gave that to you _when we were six_.”

“Yes?” Dimitri blinks, tilting his head just so. “It was the first give you handed me, I believe.”

“ _We were six_!” he repeats, a little more melodramatic this time.

“Don't you still have that book that I gave you with the dra...”  
  
“ _Goddess_ , you're.... you.” Felix sighs, and rubs at his nose. “Did you... keep everything?

“Not everything. But I did try. Except for what Sylvain gave us for Christmas when we turned thirteen...”

Felix visibly shudders. “Right. _That_.”

Everything looks in order. The kitchen is clean, but most of the silverware is missing. Likely pawned off by his uncle, but Dimitri can't find it in himself to truly care. Dedue has given him a beautiful set from his homeland, and it is far more impressive than some antique silver. There is barely any dust, and the living room furniture matches. Most of the downstairs is furnished sparingly, except...

Dimitri feels cold.

The door is wide open. _Innocuous_.

The bookshelves have been replaced. The books are organized, but not as they should be. The desk is old, so very old, and the chair in it looks exactly the same.

There should be a decanter on the desk, full of brown-gold liquid. No. Not on the desk. It's on the ground, in pieces, mixing with the red. So much red. He's trying. He's _trying_ to put it back, to clean it up

“Dimitri.”

because if he can just clean it up, put it back where it goes, then it will be fine. His father's... he just has to _clean it up_...

“ _Mitya_.”

His father will not speak to him. But it is not his father. His father... does not look like that.

His father... is...

He smells cool pine.

Something warm is wrapped around him, and there is a hand in his hair, soft and firm.

Dimitri _breathes_.

His head is buried against Felix's neck, and his partner is murmuring in his ear, over and over, little words and quiet assurances despite the underlying panic.

He's.. he's crying.

Weakly, Dimitri curls his fingers against Felix's shirt and lets out a soft, unsteady murmur. “Sorry. I'm here, Felix. I am here.”

“ _Sothis_ ,” Felix murmurs, and doesn't stop combing his hands through Dimitri's hair. “Goddess-damn it, you... I _hate_ this damn house.”

“I could use some air myself.” He is not so sure he can walk steady – not yet, but...

He is not alone.

He does not _need_ to be alone.

Sylvain finds them two hours later, sitting on the edge of the patio. There's a small fire there, where several paintings and ugly furnishings are crisping away.

“Huh. That was Pamela, wasn't it?” The redhead leans forward, inspecting the nearly-gone frame with a certain amount of curiosity. “Didn't it feel like she was always watching you _everywhere_?”

“And now she's gone.” Felix holds out a small bottle of scotch and Sylvain takes it, even more curious. “Good riddance.”

“Sorry. My flight was late.” Sylvain knocks back a drink and returns the bottle to its owner. “But looks like you... housecleaned?”

“Hardly.” Dimitri hesitates, not wanting to loosen his arm from where it's wrapped around Felix's waist. Felix tends to be clingy after a dissociative spell, and Dimitri feels stronger and more grounded by the contact. He drops his head against Felix's, inhaling the smell of the shorter man's shampoo and the smell of fire. “I... have been thinking though. Dedue mentioned the foster home he was working with is in need of an expansion and...”

“It's big enough.” Sylvain replies, catching onto the train of thought. Sylvain could be deceptively sharp, when given half a chance. “You'll have to do some sort of legal trusting or granting or something. But you _are_ planning to be lawyer so...”

Dimitri coughs. “That is not my planned area of expertise, admittedly.”

“Let's do it.” Felix says, suddenly alight and _viciously_ excited. “Dimitri, we're doing this.”

“I'll try.” It would take going against Cornelia, and getting Rodrigue's personal lawyers involved but...

But he does not need anything in that house. He has everything he could ever want.


End file.
